


beloved king

by writerlily



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerlily/pseuds/writerlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It still surprises T'Challa when people call him King. Every time that four letter word is uttered from someone's mouth, he expects to see his father, in all his glory in a clean pressed suit. Instead they're addressing him and he has to mask the sorrow he feels, putting on the face of a strong King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beloved king

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place after the event of Captain America: Civil War

It still surprises T'Challa when people call him King. Every time that four letter word is uttered from someone's mouth, he expects to see his father, in all his glory in a clean pressed suit. Instead they're addressing him and he has to mask the sorrow he feels, putting on the face of a strong King. 

His father is everywhere he turns once he arrives back home in Wakanda. In T'Chaka's many years as King, his presence is everywhere in the nation. The people of Wakanda mourn their loved King and bow their heads in respect as the car T'Challa is in passes through the streets. He looks over to the empty seat next to his and sighs, instead choosing to focus on the land that passes before them.

He had to adjust to having only one parent and now he has none. 

He arrives to their home and the tall, wide black gates slide open as the car slowly moves up the long driveway. T'Challa has secretly been dreading this. The return to a vacant home, without his father. The house is quiet, startlingly so and T'Challa knew to expect it, yet it still catches him off guard. When his father was home, he would always play music that would drift down the halls and reach T'Challa. But now there's nothing. He's alone and the pain is so visceral and deep that he has to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself. 

Everything rides on him now. 

The fate of his nation and the lives of the people living in Wakanda. T'Challa knows that they've barely even scratched the surface of the war that's to come and already his mind is strategizing, making plans for plans, thinking of adjustments he has to make to his suit. 

His father trained him for this. T'Chaka gave his son the greatest education possible and taught him the ways to properly rule a nation. He's eternally thankful for the fact that his father raised him to be smart, strong, wise. Now isn't the time to be tired, he thinks, but has to remind himself that he's still human. These passing emotions are natural and normal.

When he opens his eyes, he's still alone. But the feeling slightly dulls as he moves into the empty spaces of his home. His guards are posted along the perimeter outside, so he tries to relax. Shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it neatly in their hallway closet. The buttons on his dress shirt come undone and he takes off his shoes, letting his feet feel the cool marble flooring. 

The next few days are planned out accordingly. He has meetings to attend, a kingdom to rule. He's a busy man once he steps outside the comfort of his home. But once he has time to himself, he dedicates it to things that are just as important.

He didn't have time to properly grieve his father's death, being too bent on vengeance and blinded by his anger. Now that he's finally alone, he has time to assess what happened. To think about who he's lost and what he's gained in his life. He meditates in the fields behind his home. The soft breeze running through his hair and the sun beaming down on his exposed skin. He's a human of nature, connected with the earth and its animals. He thinks hard on this as he makes himself remember who he is and where he's come from. 

His suit is in its case, hidden in a room deep inside the house. He hasn't put it on yet, not since facing Baron Zemo, and he doesn't think he's ready to don the black outfit. Not yet, at least. 

Something brushes against his back and he opens one eye, squinting down at the animal that has disturbed his meditation. A cat, with its fur a blazing bright orange color, mewls at T'Challa's bare feet before pouncing into his lap, curling himself between his legs. T'Challa can't find it in himself to shoo the cat away and closes his eye again, a small quirk of his lips lingering onwards after that. 

He walks into his father's old bedroom sometime later during the week. T'Chaka's scent still hangs heavily in the air and T'Challa sighs, gripping the box in his hand tightly. He takes specific items from the room and lays them out on the bed to look at. A hairbrush, a picture in a golden frame, a set of rings. Material items that he shouldn't cling to, but he can't help it. He's a son without a father, without a mother, and these are small personal things that he doesn't wish to part with. He tucks them away safely in the box then exits the room with a resounding click of the door closing. 

He nestles his box away somewhere in his own room, on a separate floor of the house, feeling so much like a child who would hide candy under his pillows from his father. 

T'Challa turns back to his training and exercising, finding that the physical activity is cathartic for him. To anyone else, repeatedly doing the drills he does would be absolute torture, but he revels in it. Feeling more and more energetic with each foot he places in front of the other as he runs at an inhuman speed. Every rotation of exercises pushes him more and more to do better, be better, be the kind of king that Wakanda deserves. 

His father left impossible shoes to fill, but T'Challa doesn't let it intimidate him so much as it did before. Growing up, he always looked up to his father, wanted to be exactly like him. But he is his own person, he's realized, and the burden of carrying his father's legacy slightly lightens. He would be a different King and that isn't a bad thing at all.

He remembers how helpless he felt when T'Chaka was taken from him. How easily it had been for someone he loved to slip through his fingers, gone forever. T'Challa thinks of the other millions of people who have felt that pain twice over, the people who have been dealt a harder card at life. It ignites something in him; a fierce sense of protection over those who cannot protect themselves and a vow to put away those who inflict pain upon others. 

There's still trouble on the horizon. There always is in the world that they live in. New threats emerge every second, some visible, and others lurking behind smiles and hand shakes. T'Challa likes to think that he's ready to face these things head on. 

He finally seeks out the case containing his suit. It's a sleek, shiny black case that opens only to his touch. It softly hisses and fully opens, revealing his suit with all its armor folded neatly. He runs his fingers over the material, feeling as if he's never been this ready before to be the Black Panther.

**Author's Note:**

> a kudos or comment would be greatly appreciated to let me know what you think :) thanks!


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